


Wedding crasher

by GreyMahariel



Series: Mahariel Lavellan - Pieces [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, One Shot, Post Trespasser, Prompt Fic, Romance, non-canon AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-18 00:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13670292
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GreyMahariel/pseuds/GreyMahariel
Summary: [Non-canon AU | rated M for alcohol and language]After the revelations of Trespasser, Mahariel needs new allies and a way to maintain an influence even though the Inquisition is disbanded. She accepts Vivienne’s suggestion to marry a noble, her reputation as well as the blessing of the Empress being enough for an avant-gardist Orlesian to ask her hand despite her race.Dorian is strongly opposed to this plan.





	Wedding crasher

**Author's Note:**

> For the prompt "Fake relationship/Engagements/Wedding" of Leather & Lace Romance Week 2018 on Tumblr.

* * *

 Dorian settled down the communication crystal with a heavy sigh. She could not possibly go through with that. Of course, she would not listen. She swore to do anything necessary to save Solas, her fear to see him die overwhelming any other thing. He was no fool, he knew she would have been ready to help the elf if he had let her the chance. She _wanted_ to help him. She cared for the People as much as him, but she was deeply convinced he did not have to die for it, that they could figure out something.

And now, being ready to anything apparently meant being ready to scream on the inside for the rest of her life, in a way he did everything to avoid himself once.

He was not missing the political advantage of this plan. Yes, there was one. But the truth was, not as strong as his friend wanted to believe. She knew it, deep down, but she was desperate to do something. Something useful. Anything. Anything to regain some power to grant her and those still with her a shadow of their former legitimacy.

That was not the way. He would not allow this.

And he knew someone that would not either.

He tapped his fingers furiously on the armrest. No, he would not, and she knew that too. That was why she kept her plan lowkey, only a handful of people aware of it. She did not want him to know. Meaning, she feared _he_ would talk her out of it effectively if he did.

One little problem: how to reach the unfindable elf?

* * *

Solas turned around with disbelief at the frantic knocking upon the eluvian he just closed behind him. He did think he heard footsteps but did not bother checking. He had been cloaked, and if it was an agent, he did not need him to go through the mirror. Mirror that was well-hidden, a random wanderer would not just stumble upon it. He had trust that if random wanderer it was he was hearing, their steps would drift in another way.

Apparently not.

And who would see an eluvian and knock?

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. Likely nothing of importance, a mere no one with time to lose and wondering what it was they ran into. Yet, he would rather make sure, if only to see if they grew tired of the knocking or if they were about to damage the eluvian with that.

He returned over his own steps with irritation. His gauntleted hand gave an assured and quick gesture to let him see the other side without being seen in return.

He gaped.

The former Inquisition never found him thus far. From what his agents gathered, it was partly because Mahariel would not let people but herself go after him, afraid someone else could prove more inclined to use a blade than words if they did find him.

And yet, here he was. He had not seen the mage in years. His hair had grown, long on one side and shaved on the other. There were discreet wrinkles around his yes, perhaps more due to his new position in the Magisterium than to the years themselves. He seemed…Alone. Solas was not sure if he was relieved or disappointed by it. Though, the Tevinter was no idiot and another question quickly raised in his mind: what the hell was he doing, knocking like a lunatic on a closed eluvian?

He saw his mouth moving as frantically as his hand upon the glass and gestured his hand again, curious.

“ – Know you are in there, open the damn mirror! Seriously, my good man, we need a talk. Most courteous, I assure you, I did not forget the part where you can turn me into a statue. A wondrous statue it would be, but I am not eager nonetheless. – “

Solas quirked a brow. What – His confusion turned into concern in a blink. _Mahariel_. Did something happen? His fist tensed, hesitating deeply. Opening that mirror was ill-considered. But if something happened to her…He pursed his lips. If the Tevinter could only say more of the situation…But he had no way of knowing he was actually listening and so, his words remained a ramble about the pros and cons of himself as a statue until they faded. He watched intently the fist following the same lead, the pine green eyes looking defeated as he leaned over the eluvian, head ducked. He slowly turned around, feet heavy. Solas’ nose wrinkled. He was going to regret that.

He stepped through the eluvian, hands clasped in his back, regal. The Magister spun toward the flick of magic, pupils widening with surprise and relief. Solas cleared his throat.

“I dare hope you intend to stand by this promise of this talk being most courteous. I have no wish to fight you.”

“Solas, thank the Maker!”

The elf blinked when he reached him and grabbed warmly his hand. Not exactly the reaction he expected of any of them if they were to cross paths. His brows drew with worry.

“What is it, Magister Pavus?” He took a step back and crossed his arms, chastising.

“What it is, is that your woman is about to do something incredibly stupid and I need you to stop her.”

He frowned but refrained his urge to ask right away. His words made him relax the slightest. She was not in _immediate_ danger. And there was something he had to know.

“How did you find me?”

“Cole. As I said, I’m not here to fight but to help Mahariel. He must have agreed with my position about this _grand_ idea of hers for he eventually guided me here.”

He nodded slowly. The spirit was still able to find him, occasionally. Dorian’s intentions had to be genuine for him to give in and share his current whereabouts.

“I’m listening.”

* * *

Mahariel sighed heavily and fell back in the couch behind her. More wine. That’s what she needed. Desperately. She glanced down at her dress. She was only wearing this thing for good measure anyway. For all she cared, a stain of wine would give it originality. Josephine might kill her, though. She pursed her lips. No, not this time. The former Ambassador had been bearing a contrite expression in her presence ever since this idea came out. She would not even say a thing if she presented herself completely drunk and would do her best to keep the fact lowkey.

They were all looking at her with that kind of expression. Most had fallen in line, eventually accepting her plan. Dorian, Varric, and Sera, were no part of these. They never stopped voicing she was making a mistake.

She looked at the bottles. No, not wine. Stronger.

The Orlesian was no bad man. He respected elves, that was already more than most. But a part of her could not stop wondering what she was doing. She wanted to retch at the very thought, truth be told. Though, that was her personal feelings. What mattered was politics.

She poured the glass and downed it without ceremony. Politics. She remembered a discussion with Cullen at the tavern after the Ball. How they laughed after few drinks at the thought of these wedding proposals for him. How she reassured him and said the Inquisition would never ask that from him, no matter the political advantages.

She never said she would never require it from herself.

She was tired. She was tired, out of ideas, out of resources. _His worst fear is to die alone_. That would come to pass if she did nothing. He would die, and she did not know if she would be able to prevent it in the current situation.

A tear ran silently down her cheek.

Her ear twitched with the shift of fabric behind her. Her back tensed a second before she remembered the open window. She was becoming paranoid on top of it. It was just the curtain. She did not bother turning around.

* * *

He stood there in silence. Frozen. He could see but the back of her head, the long white hair decorated with a small crown of braids. Her position was saying enough. Shoulders slouched, and he had no doubt about the glass in her hands.

_What have I done?_

He closed his eyes with pain. A single word finally came out with a breath he did not know he was holding.

“Vhenan.”

He saw the muscles of her back straighten immediately. She was still for long seconds, her hand tightened around her cup. Her movement was as slow as one could be, as if she was afraid of seeing if she acknowledged the voice right. Or maybe more afraid if she did not. Bright lagoon eyes peeked tentatively at him, wide and shocked. A small, hesitant smile tugged his lips at her sight, storm eyes welling up instantly. He had missed her so much. He missed her so much. He did not allow himself to move first. She could have many reactions. Most weren’t good, but he would not blame her for them. Not after everything.

Her lips parted with disbelief. She forgot to put the glass on the table before letting it slip from her hand. It shattered loudly on the carpet but she did not even glance at it, raising from the couch to come closer with disbelief.

His heart clenched at her dress. Long, loose simple teal dress highlighting her eyes. She was so beautiful. He shook his head ruefully and whispered.

“I should have come sooner.”

She remained silent and looked down at the dress again then back at him. She was so genuinely sad and apologetic when she met his gaze.

“Ir abelas. This…This is not…I don’t know what – how – you heard, but…”

Her words trailed off. Facing _him_ , she could not even explain. His brows raised with surprise. How was she the one apologizing? She quickly cleared her throat, and tried to compose her features and voice.

“Why are you here, Solas?” He had hoped she would close the distance. He tentatively took a step closer.

“You really thought I was going to let you do that?” She frowned.

“You were not supposed to hear about this.”

“Because you knew I would not.” She paused, considering him with disbelief. He saw her abandoning the fight against the tears which dropped freely, her voice trembling.

“You have no right to come here and tell me not to, when nothing has changed. This isn’t fair. You cannot barge in my quarters like this, and simply disappear once you got what you want, going back working on your own death and thinking I’ll just sit in a corner and watch!”

“Mahariel, this is not the way. Making yourself miserable for what? For some scrambles of power you do not even care for?”

“I _need_ it! You have spies, forces, a fucking eluvian network! As of today, I do not even have the resources to be aware if you were standing in the middle of Val Royeaux! _Var lath vir suledin_. I will not do nothing and let you kill yourself, there has to be another way!”

He could not take the utter despair written on her face and her crying. He pulled her in his arms. She tried to fight the embrace but he merely ignored until she gave in, burying her face in the soft fur upon his shoulder. Her sobs were muffled, he felt more than heard them as she shuddered against him. He took in the floral scent of her hair. Tears escaped his watch as well at the familiarity of this feeling. _Home_. How dared he putting her in such state, over and over again during the past years? He loved her so much. And despite his best hope that she would give up on him, she did not. Not after Crestwood, not after he left, not after Halamshiral. It broke his heart as much as it warmed him. She had seen past her own heartbreak and had seen right through him. Had seen _his_ heartbreak. And so, she did not. She did not give up, not for herself, but for him.

He could not. He could not turn her back on her. Not again. It was a torture each time. And standing with her in his arms, he even failed to see why he should.

He stepped back gently, his hands on the side of her face. There was fear in her as he locked her gaze. Fear of what he would say, fear that he would walk away again.

He smiled tenderly through his own tears. He uttered his words.

“You once asked to come with me.” She swallowed and nodded.

“We can find a way, ‘ma lath. We can find a way not to fail the People, nor ourselves. Together.”

His lips parted. He wanted to believe her. He was ready to believe her. His eyes fell to her lips. Hope flashed in her bright eyes as she tilted her chin hesitantly, trying to reach him. His mouth found hers readily. A sigh of relief escaped him at the contact, at her soft skin against his. He could taste the salt of both their tears in the kiss. It was a tender, yearning touch between them. His fingers tangled in the fabric of her dress, terrified that he would let her slip away again. He rested his forehead against hers.

“We will.”

**Author's Note:**

> For the records, Dorian totally wanted him to crash the wedding properly, petrifying the Orlesian at the altar and all, but it sounded sadly way out of character.


End file.
